


special attention

by bilexualclarke



Series: The 100 Kink Meme [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Clarke is underage here, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Teacher!Bellamy, and Bellamy is kind enough to help her learn about her body, student!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 07:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19942219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilexualclarke/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: prompt: "Gym teacher Bellamy giving special one on one attention to student Clarke"Written for The 100 Kink Meme Flash Round on Dreamwidth.





	special attention

**Author's Note:**

> i'll edit this for errors later, i just wanted to finally post the whole thing!

“Miss Griffin, you’re late.”

Clarke cringes as the door clangs shut behind her, echoing into the silence of the empty gymnasium.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blake,” she says, crossing the room. “I was discussing my chemistry project with Mr. Sinclair. He gave me a pass.”

Mr. Blake is standing in the doorway of his office, also known as the athletic trainer’s room. He takes her pass with a frown and gives it a once over.

“It’s fitness testing week, Miss Griffin. You know how important it is to be on time. Ms. Diyoza already took your class up to the track for the mile run.”

Clarke flushes and looks at her toes, exposed in her strappy leather sandals, her toenails painted bubblegum pink. “I’m sorry, I’ll get changed right away.”

She’s startled when Mr. Blake turns to follow her to the locker rooms. At her surprised look, he simply says. “Part of fitness testing includes a physical examination. Ms. Diyoza did your class’s exam already, but since you were tardy, I’ll have to do yours.”

Mortified, Clarke lets Mr. Blake follow her into the girl’s locker room. It’s her junior year at Arkadia High, and she’s been fortunate to never have been part of his P.E. classes. Despite his attractive appearance—“So tan and ripped and dreamy,” her friend Harper had said at the beginning of the year, before he had confiscated her phone for texting during the volleyball unity—he is the bane of the student body’s existence. He actually pushes his students to perform, and unlike the rest of the P.E. teachers, he isn’t just content with them slacking off in the weight room during class times. Arkadia High isn’t known for their athletic programs, so Mr. Blake’s attitude is a bit out of place. He seems hell-bent on whipping all his students into shape, whether they like it or not. His intensity is intimidating, especially to someone like Clarke, who stopped lifting pom-poms when she developed breasts in middle school and became allergic to exercise. (Or rather, became allergic to the comments her peers made about her body when she _tried_ to exercise.)

Mr. Blake politely waits by the door while she scurries down a few rows to her locker, quickly taking out her gym uniform: a wrinkled Arkadia High tee and a pair of tiny navy blue shorts. In her haste to get ready this morning, she had forgotten it was a P.E. day, so she had neglected to wear a proper sports bra. Clarke winces as she thinks of having to run the mile in her painful underwire bra, lacking the proper support. Oh, well. That’s her punishment for being late.

“We’ll start with height and weight first,” Mr. Blake says once she’s done changing. He leads her to the back of the locker room, where there’s a wall-length mirror in front of a long bench, and one of those scales that doctor’s offices have that can measure your weight and height at once.

“Can I take my shoes off?” Clarke asks before getting on the scale.

Mr. Blake clicks his pen and looks at her over the rim of his square black-rimmed glasses. His eyes roam up and down her body the same way that Finn from her math class does, but for some reason, Mr. Blake’s gaze doesn’t make her skin crawl the way Finn’s does. Instead, his gaze makes her cheeks flush and her chest tighten with excitement. She feels like she’s winning a game she’s not supposed to be playing.

“If you think that matters, then sure,” Mr. Blake says, his lips twitching as if to hide a smile. Clarke kicks off her Keds and steps on to the scale in just her plain white socks. She doesn’t look at the number on the little screen and he doesn’t say what it is. When he leans in to mark her height, Clarke can’t help but sneakily inhale, the scent of his cologne washing over her. He smells rugged, with notes of leather and pine. It reminds her of her father’s cologne, and she unconsciously leans closer to him.

“Seems you’ve grown over an inch since your last measurement, Miss Griffin,” Mr. Blake says, tucking his clipboard under his arm. Clarke steps off the scale. “Have you been experiencing any pains at all? In your joints? Your back?”

“My back, yes,” Clarke says, “but I thought that was normal because of…”

Mr. Blake arches an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. Clarke’s sure her face is bright red.

“Because of…you know, my _breasts_ ,” she mumbles, unable to meet his eyes.

“Ah, yes, well, back pain can be attributed to larger breasts,” Mr. Blake says, unperturbed by her embarrassment. “But it can be indicative of other problems as well. I should check your spine for any abnormalities.”

“What kind of abnormalities?” Clarke asks, concerned.

Mr. Blake smiles and takes a seat on the bench, his thick, muscular legs straddling each side. His black athletic shorts have ridden up, exposing a bit of his tanned thigh. Clarke wills herself not to look at the bulge of his crotch.

“Why don’t you let me see if there’s anything to worry about before you work yourself up,” Mr. Blake says, patting the bench. “Please take a seat, and keep your back straight.”

Clarke does what she’s told, sitting on the bench with her back to him, her spine straight as a rail. Mr. Blake presses both hands to her shoulders, his thumbs resting at the base of her neck. She tries, and fails, not to shiver as his hands move down her back, his thumbs carefully digging into her spine, testing her vertebrae.

“You seem to be alright, but just to be sure, I think this would be better if I had a proper view of your back,” Mr. Blake says, removing his hands. “Please remove your shirt, Miss Griffin.”

“My-my shirt?” Clarke stutters. She turns to look at him over her shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“I need to make sure your body is developing properly,” Mr. Blake tells her. “There’s no need to be shy.”

Clarke worries her lower lip between her teeth. Her fingers twist the hem of her shirt. “Alright…” she says reluctantly. Her arms tremble as she raises her shirt over her head. It snags a little bit on her ponytail, and Mr. Blake helps smooth it over, his fingers lightly ghosting over the back of her neck.

“Wonderful,” he says once her shirt is off, folded and placed in front of her on the bench. His fingers start to trace her spine again. “You’re doing great, Miss Griffin.”

Clarke’s nerves dissipate slightly at his praise. His hands return to her back, mimicking the same movements as before. She’s sure he can see the goosebumps that raise in the wake of his touch, especially when his fingers linger on the clasp of her pink and white polka dot bra. Clarke holds her breath as his index finger traces the line of the band where it digs into her skin, then continues down her back. When his thumbs dig into the base of her spine, she jumps, arching back against his chest.

“Ticklish, hmm?” he says, amused. One arm wraps around her waist, his hand splayed over her bare stomach, keeping her in place. “Your spine looks perfect, Miss Griffin, but I’ll have to examine your abdomen and chest, too. Make sure there’s no lumps or anything else that could be worrying.”

Before she can respond, he starts to lightly prod at the softness of her stomach. Clarke ducks her head, cheeks flaming as he examines her. She expects him to say something about it, to poke at it like her mother does, to make a comment about laying off the sweets. But he says nothing.

“Any tenderness?” he asks, moving up her ribs. Clarke shakes her head, then lets out a light gasp when his hands press against the sides of her breasts. His touch is brief and clinical as he cups her tits, barely any different from the utilitarian way she does it when she tries to touch herself, late at night when she can’t sleep, a hand on her tits and another between her legs. Yet despite the fact that her touch never does much to excite her, the feeling of his warm hands on her skin sets her on fire. Her nipples harden at his touch and she cannot help but lean further back against him, sticking her chest out invitingly.

“I see you’re quite sensitive,” Mr. Blake remarks. She can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m not, not usually,” Clarke says, a little embarrassed. “Not when I…”  


“When you touch yourself?” he finishes for her. Clarke nods. His examination seems to have stopped, but he still has one breast firmly in each hand. His index fingers dip over the cups of her bra, teasingly dragging them down until the soft pink of her areola are exposed. “No need to be shy, Miss Griffin. That’s perfectly natural.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose and peeks back at him. “It is? Even for girls?”

“Especially for girls.” He pushes the cups of her bra all the way down, exposing her tits to the cool air. Clarke suddenly realizes that she’s never had her breasts exposed like this before; all the times she’s had to change into her sports bra for her P.E. class, she’s always put the sports bra on over her regular one and then shimmied out of the uncomfortable underwire bra, too self-conscious to let any of the other girls get a chance to see and make fun of her ample chest.

“You have a perfect, healthy body, Miss Griffin,” Mr. Blake tells her, dragging the straps of her bra down her arms. “It would be a sin not to explore it.”

“It’s not perfect,” Clarke pouts. “My breasts are too big, and so are my thighs. And my stomach—”

“Is perfect.” Mr. Blake pinches her nipples, cutting her off with a gasp. “All of you is perfect. Beautiful.”

His praise sends a shiver up her spine. “You said it’s natural, touching myself,” she starts, unable to take her eyes off his hands as they gently massage her breasts. “But I don’t think I’m doing it right. It never feels this good.”

Mr. Blake’s hands still, and for a moment she thinks she’s scared him off, but then he tugs her flush against his chest. She can feel something stiff poking her lower back and realizes with a start that he has an erection—a sizeable one, from what she can tell—and it’s because of _her_.

“Miss Griffin, have you ever had an orgasm?”

Clarke shakes her head. She’s come close, but all her attempts have left her shaking, overstimulated, with pruned fingers and a bruised ego.

“Would you like me to show you?”

She knows that’s not allowed, that no matter how dedicated they are, no teachers should ever be this close to their students. She knows that this is wrong, and that he could get into a lot of trouble, probably lose his job. But he’s risking all that—for _her_. So that means she must be pretty special. And Clarke loves feeling special, so she says: “Yes, please.”

Mr. Blake smiles against the back of her head. His broad chest is warm and inviting, and Clarke lets herself relax into him. His intoxicating cologne washes over her and she takes a deep breath. She lets him spread her legs, whimpers when his hand comes between them, teasing her over the flimsy fabric of her shorts.

“Let’s take these off,” Mr. Blake says, hooking his thumbs over the waistband of her shorts. Clarke raises her hips so he can slide them down her legs and she kicks them off the rest of the way. Her manhandles her so that her sock-clad feet rest atop his thighs, her legs spread, her plain white panties on display for him.

“Is this how you do it when you’re by yourself?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that she can feel through his chest. Mr. Blake’s fingers press lightly on her clit over her panties, rubbing in slow, maddening circles.

“Yes,” Clarke says. “Yes, just like that.” She can’t take her eyes off his hands, can’t believe that he’s really touching her like this. Her wetness is already staining her underwear. He presses down harder, insistent.

“Look at you, all keyed up already,” he murmurs, his free hand teasing her breasts, lightly grazing the tips of his fingers over her sensitive nipples. She gasps and arches upward, desperate for his touch.

There’s something building in her, a delicious warmth radiating from her core, its flames licking up her spine and making her curl her toes. Clarke reaches back blindly, desperate for something to hold on to. She wraps her small hands around the back of Mr. Blake’s neck, her fingers winding into the curls at the base of his neck. His thick arms surround her, caging her in pace as she finally reaches her peak.

Clarke’s first orgasm is loud, messy. Her high-pitched cries are foreign to her ears, unfamiliar but exciting. She sounds like the girls in the dirty videos she watches secretly on her computer, under a tent of her bedsheets in the middle of the night. Her panties are completely soaked through, her wetness running down her thighs. Clarke’s limbs suddenly turn to jelly, and her mind racing as she slumps back against Mr. Blake. He pulls her closer, so that her head lolls back on his shoulder, wraps a strong arm around her waist and lifts her so he can slide her ruined panties down her legs.

“Wait,” she mumbles, closing her legs, shoving her hands between them. “I-I haven’t shaved.” She never has, always too scared to go near her private bits with a razor. She can barely shave her legs without nicking herself half the time. Bikini waxes seemed too brutal, a barbaric solution to something that wasn’t really a problem.

“You don’t need to,” Mr. Blake soothes her, pulling her legs apart again and running his hand over her mound. “I already told you, Miss Griffin. You’re perfect.” His fingers pet at her soft curls for a moment before dipping down to tease her sensitive clit again.

“ _Oh_!” Clarke gasps when his index finger dips into her opening. He’s barely inside to the first knuckle, slips in easily as a result of her first orgasm, but the stretch is still a shock.

“Now let’s see if you’ve learned,” Mr. Blake says. He guides her left hand, takes her index and middle finger and rests them over her clit. “I want you to touch yourself just as I did, Miss Griffin. I want you to come again while I fuck you with my fingers, alright?”

“Okay,” Clarke nods eagerly, desperate to feel that burning inside her again. She rubs her clit just how he did it, in tight little circles.

“Christ,” Mr. Blake swears as he presses his finger inside her. It’s long and thick, just one of his rivaling two of hers. Clarke bites her lip against the stretch as he adds a second one. It hurts a bit at first, so she just rubs at her clit a bit harder. Then Mr. Blake does something, curls his fingers so they’re pressing at the top of her cunt, and her legs spasm, nearly causing her to fall off the bench.

“Oh my God!” she squeals, clinging to his forearm with her free hand. His left arm is tight around her waist, keeping her pressed close to him Clarke grips his forearm as he fucks his fingers into her, feeling the tight muscles work under his skin as he twists his fingers to hit that special spot over and over again.

“Look at my fingers,” Mr. Blake says, sounding a little bit wrecked. “Look at all that cream coming from your sweet little cunt, getting my hand all wet. Fuck, Clarke, you like it? You like being good for me?”

Clarke barely even registers that this is the first time he’s called her by her first name, too wrapped up in the glory of his praise.

“I love it, I love it,” she babbles. She can feel the burning growing inside her again, quicker, stronger. “It feels so good, I- I wish—” she cuts herself off with a cry, but Mr. Blake turns his head and bites at her neck, making her gasp.

“What do you wish, baby?” he growls. She doesn’t answer, and he takes his fingers from her and slaps her cunt. “Tell me,” he demands.

“I wish it was your cock,” Clarke cries out. The pressure is too much. She can feel tears welling in her eyes, her arm is getting tired but she can’t stop, needs to keep rubbing her clit, needs to come again. “I wish it was your cock inside me. I want to feel you, I want you to split me open and make me—make me come!”

Mr. Blake yanks her hand away then, his rough fingers falling over her clit again. The sudden friction is too much, coupled with the rough twist of his fingers inside her, and Clarke feels herself rapidly tumbling over the edge. She tries to push his hands away, suddenly feeling like she needs to go to the bathroom, but he’s stronger than her, fucks her through her orgasms as she writhes and twists and screams in his arms, her release exploding of her, splattering over their legs, over the bench in front of them.

Trembling, overwhelmed and overstimulated, Clarke collapses back against him. Mr. Blake presses a kiss to her sweaty forehead, his soaked hand gently cupping her sensitive cunt, working her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. When she regains her breath, Clarke turns her head to look up at him, ready for it to be his turn.

She opens her mouth to speak, and the obnoxious chimes of the warning bell cut her off. The locker room will be filled with her classmates any second.

“Looks like we’re out of time, Miss Griffin,” Mr. Blake says gently. His tilts her chin up, his fingers sticky with her cum, and presses a surprisingly tender kiss to her lips. Her first kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

With that, he stands, smoothing her hair back from her face, and quickly leaves the locker room. She swears she sees him suck his fingers into his mouth as he goes. Clarke sits there, stunned, for a moment. Then the sounds of her raucous classmates starts coming closer, and she quickly jumps to her feet. On shaky legs, she uses her underwear to wipe down the evidence of her orgasms from the seat of the bench, and just manages to yank her pants and shirt back on just as the doors open and all the girls coming pouring in, sun kissed and sweaty from their mile run.

Clarke sneakily shoves her underwear into the trash as she exists the locker room a few minutes later, redressed in her normal clothes. She wonders if the other girls can tell what’s happened, if they can smell the sex on her, read the flush of her cheeks. She shoulders her book bag and walks with them into the hallway, one of them but not like them at all. As she leaves gym area, she looks back, and sees Mr. Blake leaning by the doors, watching her.

He catches her eye and smirks, and she has a feeling that something is just beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> tonight is bob's directorial debut! i'm so proud of him!
> 
> i'm on tumblr as bilexualclarke is anyone wants to chat :)


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